


Crisis

by eksterteran



Category: Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Family Reunions, Gen, Mental Illness, Mental Institution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:32:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eksterteran/pseuds/eksterteran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Strife, the institution's newest psychiatrist, is determined to help the hardest case they have: the trio Yazoo, Kadaj, and Loz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crisis

Ah, the man always kept him waiting. It made him so impatient! Not that there was much else to do in the unit; all the other patients were so boring. Oh, they were depressed, so sad! Oh, they had nightmares, so scary! Oh, they heard voices, so disturbing! He had been here for years, he had seen everything. None of the other patients could shock him, none of them could befriend him. They were beneath him. They came in, they got their medicine, and usually in a month they were gone again. He and his brothers remained.

He was just starting to truly fidget, was just getting up to poke through the drawers of the desk he sat in front of, when the door opened. He grinned up at the man coyly, his eyes hooded, giving him a look that told him, as always, that he was superior. If someone asked him why he felt so, he couldn’t have answered. He just knew it to be true.

“Hello, Kadaj,” the blond doctor sat behind his desk and flipped open a folder, glancing at it, as if he didn’t study everything that went on with this particular patient every moment of every day. A complicated case, and he wasn’t the most experienced on the team here at the hospital. But he was a fresh mind, and there was hope that perhaps he would have some magic touch that would be just what the silver haired patient in front of him needed. Leaning back in his chair, he clicked out his pen and rested a note pad against his knee. “How are you today?”

“Ehhh, don’t you grow tired of asking that every day, Doctor Strife?” He drew out the title, jeeringly, and leaned back in his chair as well. His body language was mocking though, as he mimicked the psychiatrist’s position, and then with a rebellious glint in his eye he braced his feet on the desk. “I…am tired. Loz had nightmares. Again. We stayed up almost all night trying to stop his crying. Very annoying.” He sniffed derisively.

“You know we could help with that. The Mako does wonders for sleep problems.” It was a lie. He knew it, and the man glaring at him knew it. They’d tried Mako once, before Cloud had been assigned to the case. It only made things worse.

The patient sneered, his lips parting slightly, and lowered his head so he was looking through his bangs at the doctor. “Loz doesn’t need Mako. He needs his MOTHER!” Just that single word was shouted, the rest of his voice deathly calm as he leaned forward, dropping his feet to the ground and bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. “Give us our Mother, and we can all leave. Mother will make everything better!”

Cloud frowned, his voice and expression disappointed but also concerned. “Kadaj, don’t get agitated. You know I’ll have to call someone if you do and you’ll get locked in your room for the rest of the day.” Everything about him was quiet, calm, even in the face of the threat rolling off the other man.

With a frown, hesitating as he tried to make it look like something other than giving in, he leaned back again and crossed his arms over his chest in a pout. He didn’t understand why they wouldn’t just let them have their mother. It had occurred to him that they might be hiding her. He would need to talk to Yazoo about it. Yazoo was smart, he’d know what to do. “Fine. I don’t want to talk anymore today.”

After jotting a quick note in the pad, Cloud nodded and leaned forward. “ _Fine._ But remember that it doesn’t look good when you’re uncooperative. Try to think of something you want to talk about for tomorrow.” Rising, he ushered the man out of the tiny office and watched as he walked off across the common area. The patient stopped for a moment by one of the couches, leaning over the shoulder of a new arrival, a dark haired, older man with a stuffed cat he swore was his son. The boy had actually died in a tragic car accident with the man’s wife; the cat had been a favorite toy. It had only been a few weeks since their deaths and the man was still very delicate; seeing Kadaj stop to say something to him made Cloud stiffen on alert. But he only patted the cat on the head, turned to look at Cloud like he knew what the doctor was thinking, and sauntered away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Years. Years and years. That was how long he and his brothers had been in this place. Grey carpet and white walls. At least, white where they could be kept clean against the grime of so many people. Fluorescent lighting that made his eyes hurt. Fake plants that offered no life, and real ones that sagged as their own life drained away in the pale sun coming from too few windows.

Group sessions were the worst. Talk about what was bothering them. Talk about their pain. Talk about their memories. Talk about their nightmares. Talk did nothing.

Kadaj refused to go to the meetings, and Loz simply sat and wept, and so Yazoo was the one who went for them. The staff had grown used to it. They’d been here long enough, their case was serious enough; they had special dispensation.

He knew how intense their problems were. The doctors might not think he knew, might not think he could look at things objectively and understand. Just the opposite. When it all had first started, sitting terrified in the dark in the orphanage, he’d researched. He’d learned the terms they’d need to hear to describe what he was experiencing. He’d studied the prognosis. It had been his voice that had raised against the Mako. But no one had listened.

Now Yazoo was the one that sat and listened. Reeve spoke desperately about his beloved son and stroked the black and white toy in his lap. Yuffie grinned and postured and nimbly nudged the conversation in directions other than what spurred her dangerously obsessive kleptomania. Cid cursed, and shook, and smoked, and when they confiscated his cigarettes _again_ and told him smoking wasn’t allowed in the unit, _again_ , he cursed even longer and louder than before. Yazoo just sat and listened, replying to the therapist’s quiet, gentle questions with quiet, gentle answers, then complimenting her politely on the nice braid in her hair and her pretty pink dress.

Cloud stared through the one way glass from outside the room, face blank and eyes half closed as he watched his patient. Such a mystery. The human mind was an enigma he never grew tired of. If he could break this case it would be a miracle and he’d go down in the journals for long past his own lifetime. That wasn’t why he worked so hard on it, though. Something about it simply sucked him in.

“Which one is that?” Vincent’s voice was low and quiet, and Cloud turned to look at his friend. Pale skin and long black hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, he almost looked like he should be a patient here instead of one of the doctors. The smooth features were deceiving, he’d learned. This man was older than him by a good fifteen years, and had a mind and experience that Cloud had barely even begun to learn about. Or perhaps they weren’t so misleading, since Vincent’s personality was just as cool and solid as the marble from which he looked like he’d been carved.

“Yazoo. Yazoo’s the only one that comes to group sessions. Although I guess that makes it a little easier on everyone.” Cloud sighed…this case made him tired. He wasn’t sleeping well, thinking about it. Luckily he didn’t have a significant other, a social life, even a pet. Otherwise there would have been issues with the way this had become all he ever thought about. “Did you get what I asked for?”

“Yes.” The black haired doctor held an official looking envelope against his side, but didn’t offer it to the other psychiatrist. “Are you sure you wish to see this, Cloud? It was a horrible event.” Even with his years of experience with the victims of violent crimes, Vincent had found it difficult to look at the police photos and had only glanced at the reports. Seeing it was one thing, reading about how exactly it had been done was even worse.

“Yeah. I need to know what happened to the mother. Everything.” He couldn’t deny that his hand shook a little as he took the envelope from his friend, though. The story had been all over the news when it happened over a decade ago. There weren’t many pictures released, but his mind had been able to imagine the details from what the anchors so enthusiastically told. The survivor’s reaction had been so drastic that by the time he was finishing up medical school, they were already using it as a case study. To be assigned as the lead psychiatrist was both a dream and a nightmare. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Screaming. He hears it almost every moment of every day. The shocked gasps of unexpected pain. The keening wails of extended agony. The choked whimpers that come between the cries, as the skeletal man with the long black hair chooses another instrument. They grow more animalistic, calling to a primal part of him, but there is no peak where he throws his hands over his ears and begs for it to stop. No, there is no crescendo, only the gradual wavering of fatigue and the final dying gurgle of a throat full of blood.

His brothers don’t remember what they saw. It’s his job to remember. He is the memory keeper. He has each sorted into a special little jar, preserved in his tears. He knows what order the screams come in, which are long and which are short. He knows which sharp silver instrument brought about each cry. Every night his mind plays the symphony That Man made of Mother, and he cries. Not just for her loss and her pain, but because it is not perfect. He must remember exactly. He will never let them forget.

He thinks his brothers understand that. They don’t chide him about it, but instead they comfort him, even when he keeps them from sleeping until they all collapse from exhaustion. They know everything must be flawless. Anything else is an insult to Mother’s memory.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kadaj and Yazoo were the only ones that would talk to Cloud, and that bothered him. If he could just talk to Loz, perhaps there would be a breakthrough. To try to find some sort of ‘in’ was the reason the police file was spread on the desk in front of him in all its gruesome glory of autopsy photos and crime scene reports.

It was worse than what his mind had imagined. So much worse. In a way that made him feel good; in his profession, the idea that every doctor dances on the edge of their own abyss constantly hung over them. When you could see something someone else’s mind dredged up, and have it shock you so completely, it showed you that maybe there was more room between you and the edge than you thought.

Single mother. Pretty woman. There was no mention of how she met the man, so it must have been something mundane, otherwise the media would have latched onto it. He was a doctor, a lucky catch, even if he was a little weird looking. Cloud wondered if Jenova had thought Hojo looked…well, ‘creepy’ was the only word he could really think of. Did she feel that twinge in her gut that told her not to trust him, that feeling of being prey in the eyes of a hunter? If she did she ignored it.

On their second date she brought him to her house. Gave him her trust. And over the course of two full days he… Quickly Cloud gathered the photos and straightened them and then hid them away in the envelope again. He couldn’t look at them any more or else he’d lose the little dinner he’d been able to eat before he sat down to this task. His mind wouldn’t stop playing with them, though, analyzing them, wondering how a human being could _survive_ that for two whole days. Yazoo once told him that Loz remembers her screaming until the very end, when Hojo severed her head.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After almost a week of contemplation, Cloud had nearly reached the end of his rope. He didn’t know what to do. Kadaj and Yazoo guarded Loz fiercely, and without all three pieces he couldn’t solve the puzzle. Loz was the key. Loz held the memories of what had happened and what had brought them here in the first place. He had to talk to Loz. And then it came to him.

Pulling Vincent aside during the morning therapy session, he confided with the man in quiet tones, as if somehow Yazoo would hear from in the other room. “I have to get all three of them together. And the only way to get Loz involved is to bring up the mother. So I’m going to do that. I’m going to give them the reunion they’ve been talking about.”

Vincent frowned deeply and narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure that is wise? Forcing him to discuss such a deep trauma…it might only exacerbate the condition.” There was truth in what Cloud had stumbled on, though. “I will tell Reno and Rude to be ready to assist you. In my experience an approach such as this often leads to a violent outbreak.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kadaj was his normal, condescending self at his individual session the next day. Although that started to falter as Cloud spoke to him. His doctor had a strange new sense of purpose about him.

“I spoke with my boss yesterday. He gave me permission to show you some pictures.” Rufus, actually, had told him he didn’t really give a damn what Cloud did with his patient. The hospital was tired of the case and was ready to transfer it to a state institution if there wasn’t a breakthrough soon, trust fund or no.

He opened a new folder this time, this one holding the police photos, and pushed a photo across the desk. In it, a beautiful woman smiled at the camera, standing against a fake background of autumn scenery with a teenage boy with knee length silver hair and styled bangs. They looked happy. Cloud had seen enough family photos and the people attached to them to know that they genuinely _had_ been happy.

The man on the other side of the desk took the picture and gripped it, nearly tearing it in half. His brow knit and his face twisted with anger, his voice a low and dangerous growl. “Why are you showing this to me?”

“You never have anything to talk about, so I decided to bring up a topic. We’re going to talk about your mother.” He closed the folder again; the rest of the photos could wait.

“I don’t want to TALK about her, I want her BACK!” The slip into the singular was almost lost on Cloud as the man jumped from his seat and lunged halfway across the desk before Reno and Rude grabbed his arms and restrained him.

The pain in the man’s words was so intense Cloud almost felt like it was suffocating him. Forget about Jenova living through those two days; that was most likely a pure biological push to survive. What truly amazed him was how her seventeen year old son had managed to cope at all, chained beside her on the bed and forced to at least listen, if not watch, and definitely made to wonder if he was next.

“What will make Loz stop crying? Will you at least tell me that?” Loz was the grief, the base coping mechanism. He had to talk to Loz.

“Loz cannot stop crying. It is his job to remember.” The man’s voice had gone quiet and smooth, depressed and aloof. His head hung forward as he held the photo in his lap and gazed down at it, long hair slipping over his shoulders.

“Yazoo. What does Loz have to remember? I want to help you, you of all of them know that. I want to help you all have your reunion.”

“He has to remember exactly what happened. Mother is gone except for the memories. We must keep her alive.” He looked up then, green eyes meeting with the blue of his doctor, and smiled sadly before setting the photo on the desk again.

“But she’s not alive. She died, and it was a horrible, horrible thing that you witnessed. She wouldn’t want you to keep reliving it like this. She would want you to be happy and remember her like she was in this picture.” Gently he pushed it toward his patient again.

Discreetly the man looked away, restrained tears welling in his eyes. For several long moments the room sat in a heavy silence, the man with long silver hair staring off into space, a trademark of Yazoo’s. And then the tears came, first a sniffle and then a choked sob, and then desperate weeping that wouldn’t stop.

Cloud sagged into his chair and had to cover his face with his hand, battling between emotions. The intense pity he felt for this man was strong, of course, but he also was close to grinning over his triumph. He was rather sure the latter wouldn’t go over well with his patient. “Loz. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” Almost shyly the man reached out and snatched the picture again, holding it close and stroking a finger over the image of the woman. Cloud watched him closely; he’d never dealt with Loz before, and if he made one wrong move now he could quite possibly blow his chances of ever helping his patient.

“Do you know who that is, in the picture?” His voice was soothing as he leaned forward toward the silver haired man. “Not your mother…who is the boy?” It was tricky, but he couldn’t resist pushing further. Loz was the innermost guardian. If he was talking to him, then his patient was vulnerable in ways he _never_ had been before. Not just with Cloud; no doctor had ever managed to talk to Loz before.

“It’s Sephiroth.”

Cloud nodded and smiled softly. He could tell by the man’s tone that Loz was even more child-like than speaking with the other two had led him to believe. “Your mother loved Sephiroth a lot, didn’t she?”

Loz nodded, never tearing his eyes off the photo. “She loved him more than anything. She begged That Man to not hurt him. She said he could do anything he wanted to her, just please to let him go. But That Man wouldn’t do it.”

The pressure he felt in his head from the severity of what this man witnessed made it hard to think, and memories of the autopsy photos flashed before his vision. Cloud had to squeeze his eyes shut for a few moments before he could continue. “Don’t you think, that by holding so tightly to the memories of Hojo, that you’re just letting him torture Sephiroth more? Wouldn’t it be better to let those go, and just remember your mother the way she was before?”

He could see Loz’s brow furrow, and then the silver haired man looked up at him. Countless emotions flashed across his face; Kadaj’s indignation, Yazoo’s depression, Loz’s possessive sorrow, and over all a kind of shock that showed that before his highly intelligent but still adolescent mind had split, Sephiroth had never thought of that possibility.

The eyes that met Cloud’s now were young, too young for the man of almost thirty that sat in the chair with knee length silver hair and styled bangs. The young doctor’s heart raced when he met their gaze; it was his job to read expressions, and the one before him told him he was meeting someone who had been missing, presumed dead, for over a decade. “Sephiroth. My name is Cloud. Do you know where you are?”


End file.
